


lock your gates from the inside

by statusquo_ergo



Series: a fire in the sage's mansion [12]
Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statusquo_ergo/pseuds/statusquo_ergo
Summary: Blame it on the concussion, let's say.
Relationships: Mike Ross/Harvey Specter
Series: a fire in the sage's mansion [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/970797
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	lock your gates from the inside

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: A while back you mentioned you might consider prompts. I really enjoyed reading your thoughts on Harvey and his dad (what about s02e10 though). As I was reading the post I thought I’d love to see you turn it into a fic. I think you would write something really nuanced (rather than Gordon just being there as a catalyst for Marvey), because you allow characters to be flawed (and antagonists to have positive qualities) and things to unfold more smoothly with more of an emotional progression. Gordon in Harvey’s life or estranged, either could be interesting. Would Gordon recognise how Harvey feels about Mike before Harvey or would Harvey have to convince him? Would Gordon see/point out the problems with Harvey being Mike’s boss? Do we know how Gordon felt about Donna? Because that could add another layer to explore too. You’re such a good writer you could make it work as an obstacle (Gordon: Darvey-shipper) or a positive influence (Marvey-shipper) without being too harsh/sappy. I’m also wondering what M and G would think of each other? I keep thinking about the boxing camp and if it says something about the qualities G admires/dislikes. Or how M feels about him doing that to his son? More akin to how I think M might feel about Lily? Wanting to like them, but not immediately chummy (I’m looking at you Donna)? How would H react if one/both of his parents didn’t like M and/or vice versa? In general, how would Harvey’s new (not so much improved) issues affect Marvey?
> 
> Um. So, this answers…parts of that!
> 
> Enormous and surely insufficient praise and thanks to [FrivolousSuits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrivolousSuits/pseuds/FrivolousSuits) for taking the time to talk through the planning phase with me and then being kind and generous enough to come back at the end and do everything she could to clean up the final product.

Hospitals don’t usually make Harvey this— _fidgety._

Well, that’s not so outrageous, is it? Lots of people don’t like hospitals, lots of people would prefer to leave them as soon as they have to go in. Who _likes_ being injured? Yes, masochists, fine, but in terms of just regular people, it— It’s not—

What the fuck is _taking_ so long?

Harvey pounds the side of his fist down on the papered exam table where he sits, taking some pleasure in the solid _thump_ of it until the slight twisting at his waist makes him feel like he’s going to throw up, and for god’s sake, can’t he just go _home_ already? He’s got things to do, calls to make and associates to ignore and files to…file, and…all sorts of things, and come on, he’s got to get the hell out of here already.

He’s just begun to consider—seriously consider, because this is fucking ridiculous—storming out the door and demanding to be let go when a grey-haired doctor walks in with a thin folder in her hand and half-moon glasses perched on her nose, looking far more like a fussy librarian than a seasoned medical professional, but hell, she could be a goddamn pastry chef, for all he cares, as long as she’s planning on discharging him. Harvey smacks the bed again and shoves himself forward to stand, only stopping when the abrupt motion makes him dizzy, and the librarian-doctor nods and looks him up and down.

“I’m sorry for the wait, Mister Specter,” she says, thumbing through the folder.

“You should be,” he says bitterly, sitting as far back on the table as he can.

Blinking the weariness from her eyes, she offers him a tepid smile. “You seem to have sustained some soft tissue damage to your mid-back, and a moderate concussion,” she says, as though she wasn’t the one to administer the tests in the first place. “The gentleman who was with you when you arrived, he’ll be able to look out for you for the next twenty-four hours?”

The gentleman? That’s gotta be Mike, doesn’t it? No—no, wait, no, Mike is in the middle of that big…not-a-merger thing, that guy trying to sue his ex-partner for liquidating his share of their company to pay off a strip club owner or a mob boss or something, and he had a court appearance today. Harvey was in the car by himself, coming back from a deposition hearing somewhere uptown, so— Ray, is she talking about Ray?

“No,” he says, “Ray’s my driver, he’s gotta go home. To his family.”

Didn’t _Ray_ tell her that? Don’t any of these people _talk_ to each other?

“I see,” she says, looking down at the file again. “Is there anyone else you can call to stay with you?”

Yes, obviously, there’s Mike, how can she not know about Mike?

“Yes,” he says with a petulant scowl.

“Great,” she says, smiling patiently with the air of an adult addressing an impetuous child that makes Harvey grit his teeth and try not to sneer.

A few seconds pass, and the doctor leans forward a little.

“Can you give me a name?”

Harvey squints up at the ceiling. “Mike Ross,” he says. “His number’s in my phone.”

“Alright, great,” she says, “he’ll be able to pick you up here?”

Mike is very busy in court today, and Judge Ridenour is an ornery old bastard who likes to hold attorneys in contempt for stupid little things, and he can’t do that to Mike. He can’t, he won’t.

“No,” he says distractedly as the imperfections in the ceiling tiles begin to dance around each other, “no cell phones in the courtroom.”

The doctor looks back down at his file.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t let you go without supervision.”

Harvey nods slowly as cotton begins to fill his skull, blotting the edges of his vision. It’s still early, isn’t it? Light outside and all that? Maybe a nap, though, a nap would be good. What the hell was he so angry about? Everything’s fine, it’s all fine. He just needs to rest his eyes a minute, everything’s gonna be fine.

“Mister Specter.”

What?

“Mister Specter, I can’t have you falling asleep. Come on, come— Open your eyes, Mister Specter, come on.”

Harvey glares at her.

“Call Mike.”

“You just told me I can’t do that.”

Yeah, because he’s in _court,_ doesn’t she _listen?_

“Mister— Open your eyes, please, Mister Specter, is there anyone else I can call? Any relatives in the area?”

“Is Boston the area?” he asks sourly, but she just sighs.

“No,” she says, “Boston is not the area. Mister Specter, if there’s no one I can send home with you to monitor your progress, we’re going to have to keep you here overnight for observation.”

Here? All night? But what will Mike think, when he tries to call? He will, probably, after court, and cell phones aren’t allowed in hospitals, and he won’t be able to talk to Harvey, and he’ll— He’ll what, what will he think? That something terrible happened, probably, that Harvey is dead in a ditch at the side of the road or at the bottom of the river, that he’s going to become the inspiration for an episode of _Owen Marshall: Counselor at Law_ if it hadn’t gone off the air in 1974.

“I,” he says, “have to go _home._ ”

The doctor smiles. “Let me find somewhere to put you, and I’ll be right back with an ice pack and some ibuprofen.”

She turns and walks out of the room, and Harvey collapses his entire body weight against the raised back of the papered exam table.

God dammit.

Fucking hospitals.

\---

For a bunch of assholes who spent over an hour finding someplace to stash him overnight, the hospital administrators sure take their time processing his discharge papers. It’s nearly six by the time Harvey finally makes it home, immediately kicking off his shoes and collapsing on the couch to check his phone; three missed calls, that sounds about right. He’s been in the hospital for basically a day and a half, after all. He’s got friends, family, et cetera, and it’s perfectly understandable that they’d take an interest in his wellbeing, that they’d want to check up on him. Sure, there’s a call from Ray, probably checking on his prognosis; a message from Mike and a text besides, because the kid is nothing if not a caregiver; and one missed call from—his father?

Shit. How did he find out? Who told him? Who else knows?

No. Wait. Calm the fuck down. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he’s just calling to say hi. Maybe _he’s_ in the hospital. Maybe this is all just really, really bad timing. He’ll just call Mike, let him know what happened, where he’s been all day, and then he’ll call his dad, and everything will be just fine.

“This is Mike Ross, leave a message.”

Harvey frowns at his phone.

“Mike?” he says. There’s no answer, and Harvey clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“Hi Mike,” he starts again. “Sorry I missed you today, gimme a call when you get this and I’ll tell you all about it.”

That’s probably enough. Harvey lowers the phone and goes to hang up, raising it back to his ear at the last second.

“Hope the trial went well.”

There, that’ll do it. Harvey ends the call and scrolls through his contact list to the Gs.

Details. Send.

“Harvey?”

Harvey grins. “Hi Dad.”

Gordon laughs like he’s been waiting for this call all his life. “Hey, kiddo,” he says. “I tried to call you yesterday, thought maybe I had the wrong number.”

“No, you were fine.” Harvey rests his free arm over the back of the couch as his gaze drifts to the empty fireplace. “Something came up. Everything okay?”

“Sure,” Gordon says, “sure. Everything’s great. You remember Jordie Black?”

“Your old bassist buddy.”

“That’s the one.”

Harvey scratches right above his temple. “What about him?”

“The old boy’s put together a solo act, if you can believe it,” Gordon says with a chuckle. “Got himself a one-night showing at Smoke on Thursday, and I was hoping you and I could get together while I’m in town.”

In town? He’s—in the city? Harvey had no idea, he would’ve— He would’ve—

Wait. Wait. One missed connection, present tense, he’s still here. No harm, no foul.

Harvey forces himself to smile. “Yeah,” he says. “Sounds great. What’s your schedule like?”

Gordon laughs again. “Schedule? My schedule is a whole lot of time to kill until tomorrow night. You had dinner yet?”

Harvey’s mind wanders to the leftover lasagna in his freezer and the fifteen-odd takeout places tucked away in his phone.

“No, sir.”

“Great, so should I come over to your place, or you wanna meet up somewhere?”

Massaging his forehead, Harvey tries to remember where he left the Motrin he picked up on the way home from the hospital. The bathroom, right? Yeah, probably, that makes sense.

Wait— Wait, he’s on the phone. Right now. He and his dad, they’re having a conversation.

“Huh?”

Gordon pauses a second.

“How about I come by, we’ll order pizza.”

Harvey nods.

“Yeah,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I’ll see you there.”

“‘There’?”

“Here.” Harvey closes his eyes. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

Harvey hangs up the phone and gets up to turn off the lights.

Where’d he put those goddamn pills?

\---

“So then the kid goes and gets up on stage, and he plays the whole set with his damn shirt inside out.”

“He trying to make some kind of statement?”

“Too cool to take a little friendly advice from a couple of old-timers, is my guess.”

Harvey laughs around the mouth of his can of ginger ale, and Gordon grins, picking up his Heineken and taking a long drink.

“So,” he says, thunking the bottle down on the dining room table and raising his eyebrows salaciously. “What were you getting up to yesterday?”

Harvey snorts, shaking his head. Those days are long dead and gone, that’s for sure. “Nothing like what you’re thinking.”

“You’re done taking your pick of the fillies at those fancy parties you head off to all the time?” Gordon puts on a knowing smile. “I guess that girl of yours’d never let you get outta that one alive.”

“Donna?”

“You two finally get your heads on straight?”

Harvey smiles tightly. Real family togetherness, that’s what they’ve got going here. Expert communicators. They should teach a class.

“Donna’s not my girl,” he says. “She’s my secretary.”

“Hey.” Gordon waves his hand, “I’m not here to judge.”

“Mike, though,” he goes on, tipping his soda can in the air. “Mike would kill me.”

For a few drawn-out moments, Gordon looks at him appraisingly, taking in the news of his and Donna’s platonic friendship and brushing it off as though he never expected anything more, as though none of them did. None of them should have.

“Mike?”

Funny, Harvey thinks, the sorts of things he’s never bothered bringing up before. He’s always been good at keeping his myriad lives separate; wonder where he picked up a habit like that.

“My associate,” he says.

Gordon grins as though this is all terribly funny, the rigid corporate scale that he’s built his entire life around escaping, that it’s so charming his son has walked into one with his eyes wide open. That Harvey might not have a reason for doing things that way.

“Real taskmaster,” he chuckles, “huh?”

It’s not Gordon’s fault that Harvey never tells him anything.

“He’s a tough kid,” he says. “But I’m pretty sure he’d let it slide if I missed work for something like that.”

“Ah,” Gordon says knowingly, even though Harvey’s pretty sure he’s missed the point.

“I mean.” He raises the ginger ale back to his lips and doesn’t drink. “He may be a smartass, but he’s not a hypocrite.”

Gordon’s smile widens for a moment, a cheery little laugh beginning to tremble in tremble in his chest, right up until the moment he catches on, the moment it dies away, his smile twitching and turning down at the edges. It’s alright; whatever he has to say, Harvey’s heard it a dozen times. They’ve been down all these roads before, him and Mike; they know what they’re doing.

“I didn’t know you could do that kind of thing,” Gordon says. “Big company like yours.”

Harvey lowers his gaze to the coffee table. “We can’t,” he says. “But that doesn’t seem to be stopping us.”

You should understand that, Dad, don’t you think? Breaking the rules to follow your heart? Starting a fight you won’t win, just to take the shot? Just to say you did, to know you tried, because you can’t do anything less? Don’t know how to live your life any other way?

We’re better this time. We’re going to get it right.

He watches a drop of beer slip down the side of Gordon’s bottle, as Gordon presses his lips together tight.

“You love him?”

It’s not everything, but it’s the most important thing.

Harvey looks up, right into his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

They pause then, a mutual assessment, a moment of understanding, compromise and agreement, until Gordon smiles like he gets it, and Harvey lets him think he does even though he still isn’t sure.

“Good,” Gordon says.

Harvey nods. It has been since the beginning, and it will be until the end.

“So,” Gordon says, picking up a greasy knob of pizza crust once the dust has settled, once the time for drawing out their reactions has come and gone. “What were you doing?”

Harvey swirls his can of ginger ale and wonders if they’re going to talk about this later. Wonders if they should, if it’ll accomplish anything. If his father’s judging him, if he’s changing the shape of him in his mind.

Not that Harvey’s one to talk.

“Overnight at the hospital,” he says as Gordon looks on impassively. “Car accident. We got sideswiped on a wide turn, they needed to keep me for observation.” He raises the soda to his lips. “No big deal.”

Gordon frowns around the bread in his mouth. “They couldn’t send you home?”

“Not without a caretaker.” Setting the can down and closing the lid of the pizza box, Harvey stands and begins to gather their plates and the unused silverware. “I’m really fine.”

“You tell your mother?”

Harvey looks at him dryly. “What do you think?”

Gordon grunts under his breath. “You know, Harvey, I wish you two’d get over all the bad blood that’s keeping you apart.”

Shrugging his indifference, Harvey keeps clearing dishes.

“Maybe now’s not the time to get into that one again.” Gordon sighs. “You at least call your brother?”

“Mm,” Harvey murmurs, “guess I forgot.”

“Harvey,” Gordon says, and Harvey frowns.

“I have a concussion, Dad.”

“Alright, alright.” Gordon waves him off. “You call Mike?”

Harvey stacks their empty drinking glasses one on top of the other and purses his lips.

“He was busy.”

“He busy now?”

“He was when I called him this afternoon.” Harvey looks down at the glasses in his hand. “He’s working a pretty big case; the police might end up getting involved, the way things are going now.”

Gordon raps his knuckles against the table.

“You gonna try again?”

If they’re going to talk about it, they might as well do it now.

“Yeah,” Harvey says. “Tonight. I’ll check in before I go to bed, let him know what’s going on.”

Gordon raises his eyebrows and looks away, a weirdly restrained expression on his face that makes Harvey wonder what point he wants to make and why he’s afraid to come right out and say it.

“You sure you wanna do that?”

The clatter of porcelain knocking against glass startles Harvey as he fumbles to set the dishes down in the sink.

“Of course I do.”

Gordon stands from the table, ambling over to the living room at his leisurely jazz musician pace, his slightly drunken swagger.

“You don’t think you might be kicking the old hornet’s nest on that one?”

Harvey frowns. “He— We keep secrets from everyone else, we don’t keep them from each other.”

Gordon laughs a clumsy kind of laugh, like Harvey’s said something very cute and very stupid, and Harvey wonders for a moment if this is what his childhood was like, if this is how it’s always been between them and he never really noticed.

He turns on the tap.

“What?”

Gordon sits in one of the stiff leather chairs and shakes his head.

“Alright,” he says. “I guess you know him better than I do.”

“You’ve never met him.”

Gordon nods, and Harvey pours too much soap onto the corrosive sponge.

“No, come on,” he says, “what’s the problem?”

Averting his eyes, Gordon lifts his shoulder.

“I’ve seen my fair share of _amore_ over the years,” he says, drawing the word out with an exaggerated accent that splits the line between absurdity and sincerity right down the middle. “Seen ‘em all come and go, every which way you can imagine.”

Harvey rests his elbows on the counter and leans forward. There’s really no arguing that.

“And one thing I can tell you,” he goes on, “is that some secrets are better kept secret. And— Just, think about it, now it’s all said and done, do you really want to put that in his head, worrying him over nothing? Something neither of you can do anything about?”

The sink is full of water, and Harvey turns off the tap.

Don’t destroy your family, Harvey. Don’t ruin something good because of your self-righteous crusades, because you’re sure you know what’s best for everyone. Don’t think you’re better than you are.

Don’t you ever make the same mistake twice.

Harvey scrubs the corrosive sponge with too much soap in little circles across the surface of a greasy dinner plate.

“No,” he says. “I guess not.”

Gordon nods.

Got it in one.

\---

“Rest and recover,” the doctors told him. “Give yourself some time, cut yourself some slack,” they said. “Don’t worry if you can’t do everything as well as you’re used to for the next few weeks,” or something along those lines. “Concussions are serious business,” that was the point of all of it.

They made sure he understood as much while they kept him locked in bureaucratic hell all of yesterday, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to miss going into the office the first day he’s able. Mike is in court again, but there’s plenty he can get done in the meantime. Plenty to occupy him, keep him busy, make the hassle worth his while. Calls and files and stuff.

Still, he’s probably got the right idea clocking out at five.

One insufferably long car ride down one insufferably bright street later, Harvey stumbles into his apartment and falls against the couch cushions, closing his eyes against the darkness and resting his hand on his forehead.

The right idea. Yeah.

Might be nice if Mike was here.

Nope. Mike is busy, Mike is working a big case, and he might have to get the police involved, and Harvey is doing this for Mike’s own good. He’s doing it to protect him, to look out for him. Harvey can take care of everyone, no matter what. He’s on top of it. All of it. All the time.

Might be nice, is all.

Nope. He’s doing just fine.

Harvey sinks down into the cushions, finally starting to get a handle on steadying his breathing when a sturdy pounding sounds at the door, the noise effectively splitting his head in two. The pounding only grows louder as he tries to ignore it, and when he doesn’t think he can take another moment of the clamor, Harvey forces himself to his feet, feeling his way along the wall to the door and fumbling to set his hand on the knob.

“Oh,” he says, blinking into the light of the hall. “I was just thinking about you.”

Mike glares at him, and Harvey takes a step back into the foyer.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mike snaps.

_What?_

Gaping at Mike doesn’t do anything to quell his obvious fury, and Harvey tightens his grip on the doorframe as he contemplates slamming it shut again and starting this whole damn conversation over again.

Harvey!” Mike advances on him over the threshold, grabbing the door from him and tossing it violently closed as Harvey takes another step backwards. “What the hell were you thinking? Why didn’t you call me?”

Now that’s just unfair. Mike was the first person Harvey called, the very first, right as soon as he got home from the fucking hospital, and it’s not Harvey’s fault that Judge Ridenour lives like it’s 1969, and it’s not Harvey’s fault Mike doesn’t check his voicemail.

“I did,” Harvey says. “I called you yesterday afternoon, as soon as I got home, and I left you a message, and you didn’t call me back.”

Yeah, some message!” Mike quirks his fingers sharply in the air. “‘Sorry I missed you today, give me a call,’ that’s definitely the kind of life-or-death situation that’s gonna make me drop the first lead I’ve had on this goddamn case in a _month_ so you can tell me you slept through your alarm but you wanna go out for dinner to make up for it.”

“Hey! I—”

Dammit, Harvey,” Mike cuts him off, “why— Why didn’t you call me when you were at the hospital?”

“You were at trial!”

Mike smacks his hand against the wall. “I would’ve gotten out of it!”

“Yeah? How?”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it!”

Exactly, that’s _exactly_ the point! It’s over and done with, and there’s nothing they can do about what’s already been done, so why bother getting so fucking angry about all of it? About any of it, about anything? Mike is so smart, he’s so clever, why doesn’t he understand? This is all so simple, why isn’t he getting it?

“I was trying to help you,” Harvey says, and did the room get colder all of a sudden?

Mike doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’re busy,” he tries again. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

“You don’t think I’m distracted now?” Mike snaps. “How long did you think you were going to be able to keep this a secret, how long were you planning on hiding it from me that you were in a _car accident?_ ”

Oh, okay. Okay, so this is what he gets for trying to do the right thing?

Fine. That’s fine, that’s just fine.

“You know what?” he rants, stepping up into Mike’s space. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. Because I knew you’d go and blow everything way out of proportion, I knew you’d try to make something out of nothing, I knew you’d try to make this into something you could _fix._ But you know what, Mike, sometimes, things just _happen,_ sometimes there’s nothing you can do about them, no matter how much you want to, and you’re better off not even trying, so how about you just take your good intentions, and you get the hell out of my house!”

“Jesus Christ, Harvey!”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I fucking heard you, that’s how I know you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

After everything he’s been through, everything that’s happened, _this_ is the reward he gets for trying to do the right thing? _This_ is what he gets for trying to spare Mike the pain, the fear of not knowing what might happen, that he might not live through the night, that he might never be the same again?

Harvey snaps his arm out toward the foyer and tries to remember why it might not be a good idea to shove Mike out the door.

“I told you to get the hell out!”

“Harvey!” Mike grabs his hanging arm and yanks him off balance. “I’m not leaving, I’m trying— I just want to help you! And I can’t do that if you don’t tell me when there’s a problem!”

“Of course there’s a problem, I was in a car accident!” Harvey shouts, pulling his arm back. “I had to stay at the hospital, overnight, all by myself, what do _you_ call that?”

Mike is winding up for another argument, another punch, Harvey sees it in his eyes, in the twist of his lip and the tension in his chest. So let’s have at it, huh, let’s get it all out in the open, let’s take this goddamn thing as far as it’ll go until there’s no coming back.

But Mike doesn’t.

Shaking his head, his breathing still a little labored, his chest still a little tight, Mike steps back, waving his hands before him as though to wipe away everything he’s said, everything he’s done since he got here.

“Alright, fine,” he says. “Fine, if you want to—yell at me, if you want to make this into one big argument, fine, I don’t need to listen to this.”

Because that’s the way it goes, isn’t it. You run away when things get hard. You never could stick around to see anything through to the end.

“I thought you weren’t leaving,” Harvey mocks.

Mike laughs, a delirious sort of sound that makes Harvey want to run into another room and slam the door.

“God— _dammit,_ Harvey!” Mike shakes his head as his eyes lose their focus off into the distance. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, but I’m not going to waste my time trying to help someone who isn’t going to listen to me!”

Isn’t going to listen to _him?_ As if Harvey’s done anything but follow his stupid suggestions, bow to his insane fantasies every second of every day since they first met. As if anyone else’s opinion matters when Mike Ross is in the room.

“Why did you come here?” Harvey asks suddenly as Mike turns away. “If you didn’t come to yell at me, then what do you want?”

“I want…”

To help you, he was going to say. Probably. To make things right between us, to figure out what’s been going on. To hear you say the words I’m hoping for, whatever they are. I’ll know them when you say them.

Mike closes his hand around the bridge of his nose, covering most of his face.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I don’t know, I want… I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Harvey leans in closer, craning his neck around a little.

“What?”

“I want this all to be a stupid mistake.” Mike drops his hand and steps toward the window, toward the bright lights over the edge of the balcony. “I want you to tell me you didn’t call me back because there was no reason to, because nothing happened, I want you to tell me it wasn’t because the timing was off, or you thought I was busy, or you thought I’d do everything wrong when I only wanted to help, I want— I want this to be nothing.”

“Mike—”

“But you can’t,” Mike says loudly, “because it isn’t, and I don’t know why you called me in the first place if you didn’t want me to help you, if you weren’t going to call me again, but I don’t want to keep going all night with this stupid screaming match, so I’m… I’m gonna go, okay, Harvey, I’m sorry I came, but I— I’ll…see you at the office.”

Harvey doesn’t move.

The funny thing is that for a little while, Mike doesn’t, either.

He’ll go; he said he would, and he will. It’s for the best, and they both know it. He will.

It’s just that it’s hard, is all. He doesn’t really want to, and Harvey doesn’t want him to, either, but nothing they can say will wash away everything else that’s happened tonight, and they can’t build much of an understanding out of all that. So he’ll go, and it’ll be hard, but they’ll try again tomorrow, when everything is new, and they’ll get it right the third time around.

The door opens, and then it closes, and Harvey doesn’t move.

Tomorrow. They’ll try again.

\---

Tomorrow, he sees Mike at the office.

He sees him first thing, almost, walking right past his door and thinking about going in, thinking about taking the initiative and then thinking better of it. Mike will let him know when he’s ready. Mike will come around. Harvey looks up from his desk so many times throughout the morning that Donna calls in to ask if he’s expecting someone, but he can wait. Mike will come around when he’s ready.

And he does, too. So there.

A thin file folder clutched tight in his hand like a talisman, or some kind of security blanket, Mike walks up to Donna’s desk and stops with his back to Harvey, which, being that Harvey can’t read lips anyway, isn’t particularly necessary, but it does sort of set the tone, so. There’s that.

Donna says something and glances his way without even trying to hide her nervousness or uncertainty or whatever that is, and Mike nods and taps his palm against the file in his hand. He takes a breath that moves his whole body, a deep, centering sort of breath, and ducks his head down as he pushes Harvey’s door open.

That could mean anything.

He keeps his eyes on the ground as he walks to the sofa and sits, tapping his palm against the file in his hand, and Harvey sets aside the papers on his desk, which he wasn’t really looking at anyway.

Mike drops the file in his lap and sighs.

“Look,” he says. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t— That shouldn’t have gone down the way it did.”

Harvey nods slowly. “Thank you,” he says, not having much success at remembering the specifics of the incidents of the previous night.

Mike keeps looking at the floor.

“But,” he says, “you can’t keep me out of the loop with this kind of thing. When you— If you get hurt, if… If I’m not there, I _want_ you to tell me about it, I, I don’t want to have to find Ray and force him to tell me what happened because I can’t get a hold of you.”

Harvey smirks, even though he knows he probably shouldn’t. “You forced Ray to tell you?”

“Well, he thought I already knew.”

I guess you probably should have.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t.”

You should have, though.

“I know.”

Harvey nods and tries to look at the same place Mike is looking. There’s a little dirt on the carpet, maybe it’s that; Harvey will have to remind the maintenance staff to clean it up tonight.

“Harvey, why didn’t you tell me?”

Harvey looks up with a little humming sound. It’s a perfectly reasonable question, really it is.

Mike shakes his head and meets his gaze.

“You were going to,” he says. “You must’ve planned on it, you tried to call me, you, you, you left me that message, you… What were you going to say, what would you have said if I’d picked up? What were you going to say to me that wasn’t important enough to try to say again?”

I was trying to protect you, you know that.

No. That isn’t going to work this time.

Harvey sets his hands on his desk and laces his fingers together.

“I would’ve told you I’d been in an accident,” he says. “I would’ve said, everyone’s alive, everybody’s fine; Ray and I both have some whiplash, I have a concussion, but everybody’s fine, and I just wanted you to know what happened.”

Mike stares at him. “You have a _concussion?_ ” he repeats. “God, Harvey, what the hell…”

“I know, alright, I know. I should’ve told you.”

“I was going to ask you what the hell you’re doing at work.”

“You telling me you don’t know me better than that by now?”

Mike snickers, dropping his head again.

“Harvey…”

Harvey smiles.

“Look,” he says, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Honestly when my dad said it, it just made so much sense, I guess I just…stopped thinking about it.”

Mike narrows his eyes uncertainly.

“Hang on a second.”

“What?”

Looking back up, Mike purses his lips.

“What does your dad have to do with this?”

Nothing, of course. This is about you and me.

Harvey frowns.

“He was in town the other day,” he says. “I guess he still is, he’s gonna catch some old friend of his at a club tonight, he, uh. He came by my place yesterday, we had dinner. Talked.”

“Yeah but…”

Mike winces a little, hunching his shoulders as he tries to persuade himself to put his thoughts into words.

“Harvey, did your dad tell you not to tell me that you got hurt?”

I’m a grown-up, yes I am, and no one can tell me what to do.

“No,” he says with a little laugh, “of course not.”

“Does he have a problem with the whole…” Mike tips his hand in a here-nor-there sort of gesture, “two guys thing? Or the age thing? Or the, ‘You’re basically my boss’ thing?”

“What?” Harvey frowns bewilderedly. “No, he’s fine with—us, he’s fine with you. And I’m not your boss anymore, you’re a junior partner.”

“You kind of are.”

“Maybe in spirit.”

Mike smiles, but it falls away almost as fast.

It’s nothing, though. It’s nothing. Everything is fine.

“Mike,” Harvey says, leaning forward until the edge of his desk presses into his chest. “My dad is not trying to break us up. He didn’t want me to worry you over nothing, over something that was out of both of our control, that’s all, so, if you think about it, he was trying to keep us _together._ ”

“This from the guy who didn’t want to know his wife was cheating on him.”

“ _Hey._ ”

Mike waves his hand and shakes his head as Harvey shoves himself to his feet, gritting his teeth. There are some lines we don’t cross, you and me. Some wounds we tape over and learn to leave alone.

“Sorry,” Mike says as Harvey’s lip curls in a reflexive little snarl, “sorry, that was out of line, I just… I’m sorry. But, Harvey, do you think maybe, _maybe,_ your dad isn’t… _exactly_ the right person to be listening to about keeping secrets from your partner?”

Harvey narrows his eyes.

“Watch it.”

Just because it’s true doesn’t mean we have to say it.

Raising his hands in front of him, Mike stands up from the sofa. He leaves his folder on the cushions, but Harvey is pretty sure it was just a prop to begin with.

“Sorry. Never mind.”

Harvey grunts under his breath.

“Yeah,” Mike says after a beat, “so, uh, anyway…”

So anyway.

Harvey taps his nails against the desk, and Mike takes a step toward the door.

“I guess I’m just gonna…see you later.” Mike tries to smile again. “You want me to come over tonight?”

Harvey tries to smile back.

He doesn’t try very hard.

“If you want.”

Mike sucks a breath in through his teeth.

“Right.”

There he goes.

He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s trying, but he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know Gordon the way Harvey does, he doesn’t know everything that went on. Everything they went through. He doesn’t get it. They’ve never even met, for god’s sake, he doesn’t understand it at all. Doesn’t understand _them._

It’s not his fault. He’s trying, he’s doing his best, but he wasn’t there. He doesn’t know.

He can’t.

Harvey closes his eyes and presses his knuckles to the glass.

“Mike.”

Mike turns and pushes the door back open. “Hm?”

Harvey looks down at the desk.

“Come over around eight, we’ll order Chinese.”

Mike nods.

“See you then.”

The door swings shut, and Harvey sighs.

“Mike.”

Having already started to walk back to his office, Mike twists his body to lean into the office as he pushes the door open again.

“Yeah?”

Harvey bites the side of his tongue.

“I really am sorry.”

A second passes, and then another. And one more.

Mike nods.

“I know. Me too.”

Harvey smiles, and so does Mike.

A couple of seconds more, and then another.

Mike raps his knuckle on the door.

“I love you.”

Harvey laughs a little, even though he doesn’t mean to.

“Me, too.”

The door swings shut, and Mike goes, but it’s alright. They’ll get it, sooner or later.

They always seem to make things right in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> “Harvey, think about what it would do to your father. To Marcus. It’ll kill them.”  
> “You said that once before and you'd never do this again.”  
> “I know what I said.”  
> “And I said if you did I’d tell him everything, and I’m going to.”  
> “Harvey, I am begging you. Don’t tear us all to pieces. Don’t destroy your family.”  
> —Lily and Harvey, “Faith” (s05e10)
> 
> “You’ve been a great father.”  
> “Maybe the cool father, but not a great one. And now, I know it’s too late to make that up to you. I’m just hoping it’s not too late to make it up to Marcus. Anyway, that’s my news. What—what did you want to talk about?”  
> “Nothing.”  
> —Harvey and Gordon, “Faith”
> 
> “Where would you get a notion like that, that Louis wouldn’t have time for you?”  
> “Because they leave. Everyone leaves: Mike, Rachel, Jessica, my sister-in-law. Everyone.”  
> —Dr. Lipschitz and Harvey, “Cats, Ballet, Harvey Specter” (s08e06)
> 
> Concussion symptoms Harvey exhibits include irritability, anxiety, dizziness and nausea, sensitivity to light, concentration problems, and general confusion. Ice packs, compression, and ibuprofen (i.e., Motrin) are the most generally prescribed treatments for back muscle strain (i.e., Harvey’s whiplash).
> 
> [Smoke](https://smokejazz.com/) is a well-known jazz club in New York City on the Upper West Side.
> 
> Feel free to say hi on [tumblr](https://statusquoergo.tumblr.com)!


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